Arrows to the Rear
by Killerturtles
Summary: The one where Dean is a really awful Cupid who just needs to catch a break. Or, where asses are discussed with an alarming frequency and Sam is getting into quadruple digit bitch faces over Dean's shit. Pinning!Angel!Dean, Hunter!Cas.


**A/N: ****_The one where Dean is a really awful Cupid who just needs to catch a break. Or, where asses are discussed with an alarming frequency and Sam is getting into quadruple digit bitch faces over Dean's shit._**

**So far, just a one shot with angel!Dean and pinning!Dean. However, that may change. **

"Dean. Dean-o. Deanariah. Deancicle. Deanicide." Zachariah, Dean's boss, loomed pointlessly over him. Dean barely resisted rolling his eyes. "You know what name I like the best for you, Dean? _Dead_."

Zach hisses the last part out.

"Are you done –"

"First it's Ruby and Sam – how could you not tell that was a match made in hell? They're not even human, you idot!" Apparently, the question was invalid because Zach was clearly not done. "Dean. Dean. We have seminars for this sort of thing. Multiple seminars. All of which you have failed to show up to."

Zachariah tried to smile genially at Dean. It made Dean question Zach's bowel movements. Jo had warned him before the meeting and Dean was majorly regretting not taking her seriously, because this was messed up.

Worse than hell, messed up.

Dean thought about starting a petition for God to decree that Zachariah was never to smile again. Like, sort of slip it in between the first and second commandment, right in the fine print.

It would be all: One: Though shalt not have false Gods and then everyone would think that was it, but right under there, there would be a little subpoint a: in order to prevent false devils, the angel Zach the Dickiest art henceforth forbidden from smiling. Ever. Because that shit's creepier than hell. And then you could go onto not killing or stealing or coveting, because that shit was important, but Zach's smile?

Priority here.

"I'm glad we had this talk." Normally, Dean would be glad to zone out during one of Zach's lectures, but seriously, lectures beat smile.

Dean starts to tramp away.

Zach calls him back, with a lilt to his voice that puts every part of Dean on edge and sinks molten pounds of a volcanic meat grinder.

"I haven't told you the best part, Dean." Fuck off, Dean thinks.

But Dean can't risk losing his job, so he doesn't speak. Instead, he lets Zach drag him off to somewhere Dean wasn't keen to spend a lot of time in.

…

Dean Winchester is a cupid by design, if not by nature.

Were Dean anything by nature, it probably would have been a fuck-up. Hell, even by design, Dean was a fuck-up for a cupid.

Dean thinks that he's technically not a cupid, but fuck all if that matters because when it comes to worshiping God silently, sign Dean up freakin' last, okay?

This whole Cupid gig was a bit below Dean, frankly, but you don't argue with the big man when he gives you a job, 'specially if you're previous career path was on the die a virgin fast track.

The big man, above, of course, was God. In the beginning, it was all The Big Man this and The Big Man that, but eons had passed and with it, formality.

Now, of all God's creations, only the angel's with stick's so far up their asses that they've sprouted roots and birth saplings – Zach was probably a poster child for tree's up his ass – used the capitals. Oh, and humans, but the silly things were rather used to being forgotten and abandoned.

Co me to think of it, Dean thought, returning to contemplating his boss' ass, that was why Zach's smiles looked like a constipated pig forced into doing the horizontal mambo, or 'churn the butter' was definitely more applicable in Zach's case.

Regardless, Zach was an ass and Dean really didn't need to contemplate this any further, before he crossed a line even brain bleach couldn't bring him back from.

On his way out of the office, Dean projected his previous thoughts on Zach's ass to Sam and two other coworkers. The first one went into shock and collapsed. Sam screamed like the little Samantha he was.

There was a pause and then the sounds of the third coworker feeding himself into Zach's meat grinder.

Dean had to give him credit for gall.

He'd probably magic him back to life and the stuff the poor dude far past the growing tree forest into his ass with God knows – actually, Dean kind of hoped he didn't, because gross man – what else.

Zach hated angel in his perfectly ground demon. Zach also hated Dean, and sex and beer and fast cars, and that was everything good on earth as far as Dean was concerned. In Dean's upmost humble opinion, God created Zach so that humans would know what a douchebag was in advance.

But Zach and asses and everything aside, Dean had a job to do, which meant he should be on earth, sexing up his new target.

"Going to sex up your next victim?" Jo hollered after him.

Dean frowned. That was rude. Everyone knew that Dean had unorthodox Cupid-ing methods, but he had reasons. It didn't occur to him at first that she was teasing because he had just spent the last day and a half seeing the inside tour of Zach's metaphorical ass.

Zach's attempts to "get him out of this foolish Cupid-ing business".

Suffice to say, the level of effectiveness achieved was low and the main thing Dean pulled out of it was a renewed desire to stay out of Zach's real ass and get a job so he could have him some human lovin'.

Grinning, Dean pulled out the file Zach had finally given him. He kind of owed Lisa a visit, after he'd hooked her up with her son via a very sleezy man.

But the thing about love and Cupid's was that all the romantic crap was just commercialism.

Most of the bible was commercialism so Dean didn't think God minded much, but he wasn't going to be that idiot who asked. You got along very well in heaven if you didn't ask a lot of questions. It's a bit why Dean was worried about Sam.

Dean didn't get what was so hard about just accepting God's word.

Dude. It's not like life wasn't freakin' awesome in heaven. It heaven, for God's sake. Literally, what else could you want?

Dean shoved down the part of him that suggested someone to share it by saying he had Sam. It tried to counter by explaining that while yes, he loved Sam, he defiantly didn't want to fuck him and hell if Dean didn't agree with himself.

Looking over the part where he was happy he agreed with himself over not wanting to fuck stupid little Cupid Sam, Dean decides there is something very sick and wrong with him.

But hey! He's happy, and if he's not, at least he's not Zach. That will always make Dean's day.

Smiling to himself, Dean looked down at the file.

The righteous man has fallen to hell to early.

That, Dean thought, wasn't anything he cared about.

You are to raise him.

That was difficult and Dean why it had to be done by a Cherubim turned Cupid was probably beyond everyone besides God.

And then the last bit filtered in.

You are to watch over him and prepare him with your powers of love. Distract him until he is ready.

Dean rolled his eyes. Typical heaven. Assume that because god is love, romance will make all problems vamoose.

Dean really likes the word vamoose and not just because it reminds him of a Canadian Sam. It's just a really fun word to say and you get to make a whooshing sound at the end with your mouth.

Dean liked that.

It reminded him of blowjobs.

Dean liked blowjobs.

Maybe the righteous man would give him a blowjob once he raised him from perdition?

…

Castiel did not give Dean a blowjob.

Castiel did not even thank Dean. Instead, Castiel had stabbed him several times and then tried to exorcise him, which was offending.

The entire thing had gone downhill, really, from the first stabbing.

"Cas!" Dean had called out. "I pulled your ass you off hell. Want to give me ass a blowjob? But, like, not my ass, but my penis?" Cue sultry wink.

Cas shot an arrow at him. Sultry wink apparently not up to typical Cupid standards. Dean pulled the arrow out of his chest.

Cas' eye's widened impossibly. "That is not possible. How are you accomplishing this?"

"Bro. Not a demon."

"Why have you raised me from perdition? And did you have to grip quite so …" Cas struggles, forhead wrinkling as he squeezes his left arm searching for the right word. "Tight?" He finally settles on.

"Sorry, man." Dean walked manfully over. He didn't bounce, because he wasn't an overgrown puppy like Sammy.

No one could pull off the puppy dog eyes quite like Sammy. It's his best asset as Cupid though, so people better not be able to replicate that stuff.

Because Sammy's eyes? They're the real deal. Given to him by God, right before God made dog eyes. He liked Sam's eyes so much, that Sam became the muse to God's puppies.

Sam had kittens – ha – whenever Dean called him a muse and made bitchface number seventy-eight.

Dean thinks that Sam should be grateful to Dean for all the work Dean has put into expanding Sam's bitchface repertoire.

Cas had avoided Dean's attempts to help by jumping backwards into what appeared to be a painfully misplaced wall. This was when Cas started chanting in Latin and staked him with his cross.

Officially insulted, Dean pulled it out and got ready to rip Cas to shreds. "Dude, what? Are you getting your demon killing lore from Buffy now?" Okay, maybe he wasn't one hundred percent on his rip Cas to shreds plan.

Whatever. Fists were out. Dean was just going to have to use. His. Words.

Fuck. Could Dean go back to the fists?

Sammy bitchfaced in the back of Dean's mind – number one hundred and twenty-two, are you really going to welsh on your good decision? Sam's actually there. It's an angel thing. Just 'cause Dean's more focused on Earth right now doesn't mean he's away from his brothers or Sam.

"I am not familiar with that reference."

"Cas," Dean smirks, "You have an excellent sex voice."

Cas hits Dean with his bible and drives a knife in between his ribs. The bible hurt more than the knife. Dean snaps.

"Look, I don't know what the fuck your deal is, but I'm here to help you. I'm …." Dean searches around for something believable, because you don't just tell humans you're an angel. "Your own personal Cupid." Not entirely a lie. "Via heaven."

What was he just thinking about not spewing the God crap?

Oddly enough, Cas seems to take that excellently, as if Dean's presences is merely the confirmation of fact instead of the reason for his being. Then Dean noted the cross and thought that it was too bad. The God types were always pretty boring – a riot, how wrong they were most of the time – but dull.

"A little respect here."

"I have spent years in hell. What have you done to deserve my respect?"

Those clear, blue, soulful eyes are looking at Dean and Dean kind of knows he's screwed. At this point, he only hope is to keep from Cas – great, he was calling him Cas and when did that even happen? – from finding out exactly how screwed.

Dean makes a small expression and points upwards. When Castiel's gaze finally returns back to Dean, Dean drags his wings out.

There is the appropriate period of awe before –

"Pretty, right? Alright, show's done. Time to get you laid, kid."

Cas hadn't been interested in getting laid. It had just been yada, yada yada, God'll have work for you soon, don't worry dude, yada, yada, yada boring questions, sheep assbutt first ... Dean zoned out and accidently zapped himself away.

He called it an act of God and dragged Sam down for some Earth beer.

…

Castiel, as it turns out, retained very different opinions on what happened that night.

For one, Castiel was concerned over his sister Anna, whom Dean had simply wished to sleep upon entering the worn down church Castiel had chosen to summon him from.

Cas also didn't approve of the way Dean had combusted the sheep grazing outside ass first before walking in and talking about blowjobs. Now, Cas hated sheep as much as any self-respecting city hunter, but it was the way it was done. Ass first.

There's killing sheep and then there's combusting sheep ass first and if Dean didn't know the difference, Cas didn't know why he should even be making an effort in this 'relationship'.

He failed to comprehend why that statement had sent Dean crashing around in the church in hysterics.

Cas had tried explaining that it was a turf war thing between the country hunters – the idiots driving around with shotguns in the car and no backup plans because they had no plans in the first place – and the city hunters who worked together in groups and cleaned up after themselves.

Mostly, the difference was between the types of monsters that thrived in the wild out doors and the boogiemen that crept under beds in the city. You couldn't just leave dead bodies or go dig up bones.

The country hick hunters had their salting and burning and hands on dying, but the city hunters had their rituals and their traps and their guidelines.

Suffice to say, when multiple emotionally stunted and over masculine men met up and detected a slight to their pride, the result was that more hunters died of the city-country hunter feud than from actual monsters.

Cas considered himself a city hunter, even if he did a lot of driving around with his sister Anna. It was how they did it: in shifts. Anna, Gabe, and Cas would alternate doing jobs and doing real jobs that paid because, any way you slice it, more cash was good.

Gabriel, Cas mentally reminded himself. He pulled out his phone with a slight grin, thinking of Gabe's response to an angel of the Lord wanting Cas to blow him.

…

When Dean got back to heaven, Sam was being a whiny little bitch and refused to go down to earth with him. He said he had work to do. He mumbled something about Henry the eighth and insanity. Dean called him a bitch and flapped down to the Roadhouse.

That had been several hours of hard drinking ago and Dean was currently explaining his problems to a comatose young woman in the corner. It was a toss up between Dean boring her to sleep and alcohol.

"But y'see, it … it dunnit matter 'cause, Cupid's do multi-demen-de- stuff. Like, he couldda done it later an' an' have it done earlier?"

This was true. Cupid's were the only beings that God created with the ability to travel easily through time and space. Love did not work in a linear manner and neither did Cupid's.

Picture this: Cupid's can see love and it glows for them. All throughout all time and space, the Cupid's can just look out at the random dots of light and pick one.

That's how it used to be, before Michael took over and made everything much more efficient.

Dean had a niggling sensation that love wasn't exactly built to be efficient but then he reminded himself of how he was fired from the praising God host. Dean didn't think like the rest of the Cherubims. Dean didn't think correctly, so he'd just have to trust Michael to do his thinking for him.

And await his next orders from Heaven, which really ought to be coming any second now.

Any second, Dean reminded himself as he slumped over his beer.

The last thing he remembered hearing was the sound of the door and a sudden feeling of disappointment and dread. Dean could only presume that this was Cas, with the infamous Gabriel.

…

Castiel had been busy storming into a bar – Ellen's bar – with Gabriel to notice Dean at first, until the man – angel – cupid – whatever – moved.

The sharp feelings of dread curdled with disappointment as he saw the – _him_ – pass out next to piles of alcohol.

"At least," Gabriel contributed while they were lugging Dean's drunk ass back to Ellen's, "we know he's telling the truth now."

Cas doesn't want to ask. He really doesn't. "Why?" Cas hates himself.

"No one could drink that much alcohol and not already be dead several times over."

…

Castiel is thinking about how much he absolutely despises Dean while he is waiting for the man to wake up.

Cupid aren't even really angels, their beings of God.

And Dean was the most obnoxious anything Castiel thought he'd ever met. Dean called him Cas. Not even Gabe did that. No one called him Cas. Because he name was Castiel, not Cas.

Gabriel did not like Dean much either, but he told Castiel that he didn't hate him as much because he wasn't attracted to him. It had flown over Castiel's head and Gabe had sighed and stabbed the sleeping Dean figure in the ass with a fork.

The two of them went to bed in their respective rooms, leaving Dean the couch because Gabriel was nice and the floor was hard on the tush.

Gabe totally swung that for Dean. Castiel was all, he's a being of the Lord, he can deal with a hardwood floor, and Gabe was all like, dude, shouldda let him get you laid, he's taking the couch.

Castiel hadn't argued much more, beyond bemoaning that Gabriel was his partner instead of Anna, but Gabe was used to that and he ignored the little dude (shut up, Gabriel had height dreams too), dragging Dean's body thing onto the couch.

When they woke up in the morning, Dean was gone, but he'd left a note saying,

Wait.

…

It was near one in the morning when Dean woke up. He knew he should leave and get back to heaven or Zach would have his head and there weren't many jobs left.

Besides, Dean liked being a Cupid. It was fun. You made people happy. That's all you did was improve lives.

Love, Dean had always considered God. God was love and Dean only wanted to follow that love because it was ineffable. You couldn't mess with ineffability, even though it never really made sense. Like the fact that Cas seemed to hate him or that he didn't want to get laid or that he thought he deserved hell.

What kind of twisted things had happened to make someone as Good with a capital G as Cas think they deserved torture?

Oh.

_Oh_.

Shit. Dean was in love with Cas.

If you had asked any Cupid about love at first sight, they would have given you the 'how fucking dumb are you bitch' look. Presumably, if you are asking Cupid's about love at first sight, or love at first arrow to the ass, then you will be very familiar with this look.

But the funny thing was that it wasn't really like that.

It might technically be love at first arrow to the ass, but that was only because Cupid arrows showed you, subconsciously, possibilities. It showed you your future with that special person.

It showed you falling in love with them and your subconscious is nothing if not efficient, and as such, you would simple fall in love in advance. It was a real time saver and only helped the Cupid's image as ninja love bringer people.

But Dean wasn't a human and he wasn't a Cupid and he saw all that anyway. He was everything that Cas was or will be.

You don't gradually fall in love with someone. Once you see them, laid bare, you either love them or you don't.

Soulmates, in their early days, were a thing of debate amongst Cupid's before they all agreed to just put it down as ineffability.

But Dean saw Cas completely and had known, admittedly, three days later, that he loved him.

Dean was relatively sure Cas hated him.

It was up to Dean to change that. Sure, he was supposed to bring the Righteous Man eternal happiness with a lover or even a couple of sexy distractions, but who said that sexy-times person couldn't be him?

…

"It can't be you! I will fire you and your pert little ass, don't think I won't Dean!" Balthazar, Zach's boss, was an ass too, Dean realized.

Sigh.

Back to the emo-angsting drawing board.

**A/N: For now, this is kind of like a little one shot-y thing, like if spn had been a comedy and Dean had been an angel. I have a couple like maybe chapters planned, but let me know what you think. **


End file.
